


Real War Is Far Easier

by Lliyk



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Confessions, Emotional, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Lore - Freeform, Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Zuko (Avatar), Polyamory, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Traditions, but not that slow, ok it’s slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25306660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lliyk/pseuds/Lliyk
Summary: The Gaang visits for Zuko’s birthday. Zuko wonders if his control has finally slipped.Zuko’s shoulders fall with a tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thank you, Katara.”“You took a lightning bolt to the heart for me once,” Katara reminds him blithely. “curing a hangover every now and again is theleastI can do.”The healing light of the water makes Katara’s eyes impossibly blue and stormy in the velvet dimness of his room. Zuko suddenly wants nothing more than to drown in them—inher, in the curling waves of her long unbraided hair, in the sweet curve of her mouth and in the constant aura of allure that she radiates. Fire, protective and possessive and hearty with desire, replaces the lingering dragonwine in his veins.You saved me firstZuko wants to tell her, but they’ve had that argument a thousand times and he’s never once won.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Aang/Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Aang/Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 140
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **rated m** until further notice.

Toph notices it first, because of course she does.

“You alright there Lord Hotpants?” She asks around a chocolate-pepper tart. Suki, Sokka, Aang, Katara, and herself are sprawled unceremoniously around the pond before him, enjoying the sunset and laughing at nothing. They had arrived together in preparation for the Fire Lord’s 25th birthday festival, just as they had every year since his coronation. 

Zuko tears his eyes away from Aang, who has lost his tunic and is feeding a turtle-duck pieces of a sweet sesame bun. Zuko leans into the cherry tree at his back. Toph has her head cocked towards him, but her bare feet are pointed towards their friends. 

There’s chocolate on her face. 

A smile pulls quickly at Zuko’s mouth. “My family is here and the Earth Rumble Champion has chocolate on her face.” Zuko reaches out and swipes at the corner of Toph’s lips, gathering the dessert on his fingertips to stick into his own. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Gross! Did you just _eat_ off my face?” 

Zuko looks away from her, eyes drawn to sinewy muscle and blue tattoos. “No.”

“Liar.” Toph says, but he knows it’s not about the chocolate. “You can tell me, Hotpants. I won’t judge.”

Zuko’s heart skips, but only because Katara has made her way into Aang’s lap and the way Aang easily trails his hands over her makes him feel warmer than fire, somehow—as it always had within the last few years.

Toph’s blind eyes are looking at him expectantly. 

“Well?” She asks, jerking her head in Aang’s direction. “Which one is it?”

Zuko watches as Katara’s fingers trace slowly over Aang’s jawline as she speaks quietly to him, carefully over his throat and to the edges of the sky-blue ink overlining his outer wrist. Umber against the palest tan. How would it look against his own pallid tones?

“Neither.” Zuko tells Toph.

He allows a small smile of victory at Toph’s confused little brow furrow.

“Truther.” She grumbles reluctantly. 

Zuko laughs and moves to call everyone at the behest of dinner. Sokka has started to complain loudly that there are no more fire flakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a friend asked “why not zutaraang?” and my brain just TOOK OFF WITHOUT ME. sokka/suki/toph if you squint.
> 
> **comments are ♡.**


	2. Chapter 2

Zuko is at war with himself.

It is not the _who_ that confuses him or makes him toss and turn with unease in the solidarity of his bed at night. It is nothing like knowing his enemies, or discovering the origin of whispers of discontent that used to meet him in the halls of court. No. He knows Who. He has fought battles, shed tear and blood and ended wars with Who—been through grief, hatred, acceptance and affection with Who. He knows _Who_ so well that it almost scares him.

It’s the _what_ that stirs the war within him, the what he can and _can’t_ have that makes him ache with the kind of rage that encourages self hatred to rear its ugly head.

Zuko is jealous. Terribly and hideously jealous, and it’s all he _can_ have. 

The feeling rose up like bile in his throat as he passed the second courtyard between the throne room and the family wing. He caught the tail end of what had looked to be a game of tag: Katara chased Aang on crescendoing waves clad in nothing but familiar white wrappings, and Aang danced out of her way in a flurry of graceful spins and laughter. Now they kiss, lazy and tender for anyone to see. 

Zuko stands frozen on the cusp of the engawa as Katara presses Aang into the base of a far tree, her hands skittering over his broadened shoulders. Aang is almost as tall and as filled out as Zuko these days, and Zuko notes that he uses his new height to his advantage in a way that makes cold shocks of desire bloom down Zuko’s spine.

Aang tips Katara’s head back to deepen the kiss, fits his hands under her thighs and hoists her up. Zuko’s blood runs south, swift and painful, when Katara’s bare legs lock automatically around Aang’s waist.

“What’s wrong, Zuko?” Suki asks him later as they leave the throne room arm in arm. He had requested her to attend the security conference regarding his birthday celebrations, and of course she had agreed. 

Zuko shakes away the images that have crowded his head—brown and pale tan skin on his, blue ink under his wandering fingers, even bluer eyes looking up at him. He does not need to feign fatigue when he answers her.

“It’s been a long day.” Zuko mumbles.

“Zuko,” Suki tsks. There is laughter in the sound of his name, and it brings a fond smile to his face. “it’s still morning.”

Zuko knows. He can feel the movement of the sun as if it were his own body. Suki knows it, too. 

Down the hall Aang rounds the corner with Sokka and Toph hot on his heels. His gray eyes light up when he spots them, and he waves them over with the unbridled enthusiasm that only Aang has. 

There is a smattering of hickies peeking out of the citrine collar of Aang’s tunic, fresh and red. Katara is nowhere to be seen. 

The tightness of jealousy pulls at Zuko’s chest, acrid and boiling. He leaves Suki standing alone, pretending not to see the flickers of confusion in any of his friends' features at his hasty retreat. 

What did the rest of Aang look like? Where else did Katara leave marks, and did Aang leave any of his own? Would Katara have scratches or bites? Fingerprints to match her eyes? How red would her lips be, swollen and plum with Aang’s kiss?

How would her lips look after _his_?

Zuko drops his fingers from where he touches at his mouth, curls them into a white knuckled fist. _Real war_ , he decides as he draws in shaky, calming breaths, _is far easier_. 


	3. Chapter 3

Sokka insists on a sparring match before lunch. Zuko tells him to count his lucky stars that he is not a bender and has his servants fetch him his dao.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sokka is twirling his own blade as they wait in a courtyard, the black metal glinting dangerously in the sun. 

“It’s noon.” Zuko says flatly. 

“ _So_? You can bend if you want!” Sokka drops into a deadly crouch, remnants of Kyoshi lining his stance. “Fire or no fire, I can still kick your ass!”

“Do _not_ listen to him.” 

Zuko turns as Sokka straightens with an offended pout—“ _What? You know I can take him!_ ”—and sees Suki standing on the engawa. She is holding Toph’s hand, and Toph’s hair is strangely undone.

“I can tell you’re staring.” Toph grins at him.

Zuko resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I have not seen your hair down in ages,” he throws back, then, after taking in the luster and gloss of Toph’s long black tresses, much like his own, and how her bangs have been tucked neatly behind her ears, “you look really pretty, Toph.”

To Zuko’s delight, Toph actually blushes. Whatever she might have yelled in response is cut short by the arrival of his servants. They present his swords to him with a bow, and Sokka immediately steals away his attention. 

It feels good to have his dao in his hands, Zuko thinks. Nice, to leap and bound and parry and attack without worrying for his friends lives or his own. Sokka is a man of his word, and he gives Zuko a fair challenge, chasing him about the courtyard and even divesting him of one of his dao. A rambunctious set of cheers and booing sound out over the clatter of his sword on the pavement, and Zuko deftly twists Sokka around so that he can take in their apparent audience. 

A group of noblemen have joined Toph and Suki on the steps, but it’s not _their_ watchful gazes and encouraging shouts that sends his breath of fire stuttering in his lungs. It’s Katara’s. He has not seen her since he ran away the morning before, yet there she is, sitting on the upper steps, Toph’s hair coming into a set of long braids at her hands. She is _looking_ at them; looking at them with bright eyes and anticipation, as steady and as keen as a snake-hawk. 

Enjoying the fight.

Something primal sinks its teeth into Zuko’s veins. He ducks under the shrill song of Sokka’s black blade, aimed for his neck, and drops to the ground with a staccato of sharp kicks—sternum, knee, wrist. Sokka crumples into a backwards somersault with a hiss, but Zuko darts after him, dao clashing ruthlessly against his wavering jian in a sudden shower of sparks.

Sokka’s sword hits the ground with a rattle. “Okay, _okay_! You _win_. Geez.”

Zuko lowers his dao from where it rests against the hollow of Sokka’s throat, shaky laughter bubbling up, drowned out by the sound of more cheers. 

“Sorry, Sokka.” Zuko helps him up easily. “I’m the Fire Lord. I can’t lose in my own palace.”

“In your palace, or in front of my sister?” Sokka asks the question casually but his gaze is just as blue. Just as keen. 

Zuko does not falter under the look, but he wonders if he has become obvious; if his control has truly slipped. He does not answer Sokka.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

It is the evening before Zuko’s birthday and two days before the solstice. 

“We should go somewhere!” Aang is saying from Zuko’s left. From his right, Sokka immediately agrees. “What about Ember Island?”

Zuko is trying not to let jealousy cloud his vision—they are being fitted with the final measurements for their celebration robes, his final duty for the day, and Aang’s seamstress is starting to get _very_ touchy—so the majority of the conversation goes in one ear and out of the other. 

“What do you think, Zuko?” 

Zuko pulls his eyes away from where the seamstress has carelessly brushed her hand over the sharpened v of Aang’s navel, where a fading love bite taunts him. He must be scowling something deep, because Aang’s smile falters when their eyes meet.

“We don’t have to—“

“Get dressed.” Zuko rasps, stepping down from his dais. He sends the seamstresses away with a wave of his hand. “Let’s leave. Now.”

Sokka is already halfway into his blue tunic. “ _Now_?”

“Now.”

Aang leads the way to the palace stables with the buoyancy of air under his step. Zuko is almost as happy to see Appa as Aang is; the three hour trip to Ember Island is cut down to mere moments by way of sky-bison. Aang surprises him by joining him in the nostalgic comfort of the saddle, Sokka gleefully perched between Appa’s horns.

“You’re letting him fly?” Zuko lets his surprise bleed into his words.

“Ember Island was his idea.” Aang laughs. He settles in front of Zuko so that they’re knee to knee, grins. “For a second there I thought you were going to say ’no’.”

“I almost did.” Zuko admits.

“What changed your mind?”

Zuko bites his tongue. He cannot tell Aang that he was seconds away from maybe brutally maiming his seamstress for putting her hands where they don’t belong—where he himself longs to touch. He remembers what Sokka might have said about needing a break and runs with that.

On Ember Island they leave Appa’s side to play along the shores, doing bending and acrobatic tricks and possibly drinking too much dragonwine from Zuko’s beach home. By sunset Aang wants a bonfire, so he bends a concave dent into the sand and lights one. Zuko doubles over with Sokka when the fire immediately goes out, Aang’s perplexed look only highlighted in the sinking rays of the summer sun.

“I love that nature doesn’t care that you’re the Avatar,” Sokka is wiping tears from his face, peeling away from Zuko and headed towards a cluster of distant palms. “you _still_ need wood to hold a fire, brother. I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, well! This is my first time drinking…” Aang nearly pouts. He picks up his empty jug of dragonwine and looks at it like it might contain an enemy. “Am I really that drunk?” He laughs and looks at Zuko for help. “What is _in_ this stuff? Katara might have my head in the morning…”

Zuko lays in the sand and tries not to look at him, pushes sparks from the tips of his fingers as a distraction; Aang has lost his tunic again and the dragonwine almost makes him brave. He tries not to think of Katara, either. “Fermented dragonpeach, fire lily, and rice wine. It’s a traditional drink. Not as hard as firewhiskey but just as potent.”

Aang joins him in laying back and sending sparks into the sky. “I like it.” He says simply, slurring only a little.

Zuko bites his tongue again like his life depends on it, because it does.

_I like you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **comments are ♡.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t mind me... chapters get longer after this ♡

Zuko clears the bonfire and readies Appa’s saddle when it’s almost midnight, Yue’s waning reflection broken among the choppy waters of Ember Island’s coast. He is a little more than tipsy but not enough to foolishly let them slumber away on the beach. Sokka is still easy enough to manage—he’d fallen asleep mumbling nothings to Appa, his jug of dragonwine nowhere to be found. It’s Aang that gives him pause and makes a cool wave of clarity break through the alcohol. 

Aang is spread askew against a swelling dune of sand, his tunic clutched in one hand and the other reaching for someone who is not there. Zuko feels something warm yet affectionate feather shyly behind his ribcage. Aang doesn’t look a day over thirteen in his sleep, but the way his tattoos dip and fold over planes of muscle is what reminds Zuko that this isn’t the boy he once hunted, but the man that he’s become.

Zuko sweeps his long, unbound hair out of the way and then deftly pulls Aang up and onto his back, staggering only a little but cursing under his breath a lot. His body warms instantly as Aang’s weight settles against him, tattooed arms over his shoulders, and he tries not to think about the firmness of Aang’s _everything_ as he secures his friend’s legs over his sides, or about the tufts of warm exhales brushing against his neck.

Zuko barely makes it three steps in Appa’s direction before Aang stirs, calling his name so soft that it makes him tighten his grip. 

“Hmn.”

“Where are we going?” Aang's mouth moves against the juncture of his shoulder. Zuko focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. 

“Home.” He responds quietly. 

“Oh. Okay.” A tiny yawn, and then Aang’s sinewy arms tighten briefly around him. “Zuko?”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

Deep, even breaths meet Zuko’s ears. The feeling of Aang’s lips against his skin burns all the way back to the palace; through the stable gates and down the blurred halls of the family wing, long after he has had his servants whisk him away with Sokka.

The feeling follows him right into his empty bed, where he has liquor fueled dreams of playing over valleys of pale tan and rivers of sky-blue.


	6. Chapter 6

Katara was the first person to ever trust Zuko—the _real_ Zuko. She makes him feel warm in a different way than Aang does, much warmer than anyone else ever has. It is the only reason he doesn’t blast her head off when she wakes him before the crack of dawn.

“Go _away_.” He grumbles into his sheets. 

“You have sand in your hair.” Katara points out, mirth in her tone. “It’s time to get up.”

Zuko is hungover and angry at being roused so soon—it’s _his_ birthday, he’ll sleep however long he wants—but something in the back of his mind clicks, and suddenly he is more awake than he has ever been in his life.

_Katara is in my bedroom. Katara is in my bedroom. Katara is in my bedroom._

Zuko sits up with a grunt and strategically eases a stray pillow into his lap, just in case. Katara is curiously inspecting his mother’s masks hanging on the wall by nothing but the cluster of candles he managed to light before passing out, the Blue Spirit mask included. Zuko clears his throat pointedly.

“Did the servants let you in?” 

Katara chuckles and turns toward him. “Not really.”

Zuko starts to laugh at that, because _of_ _course_ they didn’t and because _of_ _course_ Katara wrangled herself into his rooms anyway, but the start of the action makes his head pound and his ears ring. A pained groan falls past his lips, unbidden, and he shuts his eyes in an attempt to send it away.

“Just as I thought...” Katara is sighing knowingly, closer now. Zuko cracks an eye open and finds himself holding his breath. There is already glowing water encasing her palms, and she is already _there_ , reaching forward to smooth away his hair and touch her fingers to his temples.

Zuko’s shoulders fall with a tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thank you, Katara.”

“You took a lightning bolt to the heart for me once,” Katara reminds him blithely. “curing a hangover every now and again is the _least_ I can do.”

The healing light of the water makes Katara’s eyes impossibly blue and stormy in the velvet dimness of his room. Zuko suddenly wants nothing more than to drown in them—in _her_ , in the curling waves of her long unbraided hair, in the sweet curve of her mouth and in the constant aura of allure that she radiates. Fire, protective and possessive and hearty with desire, replaces the lingering dragonwine in his veins.

 _You saved me first_ Zuko wants to tell her, but they’ve had that argument a thousand times and he’s never once won. The glow ceases and takes his hangover and fatigue with it. Zuko watches raptly, always endlessly fascinated with her waterbending, as Katara makes the moisture dissipate into thin air.

“You’re mine for the morning, Fire Lord Zuko.” Katara says matter of factly, hands going to her hips. Zuko’s heart skips at the grin she gives him, beautific and entirely full of mischief. He wants to kiss her. “I hope His Highness is man enough to keep up with a peasant like me.”

A thousand responses dance on the tip of Zuko’s tongue— _but you’re a princess_ and _wouldn’t you like to know_ and _on a scale of one to ten how do you feel about me tying you up like that one time_ —he bites it like his life depends on it, because with Katara it actually does. He owes her this life and the next, and he gives it freely to her without disrespect or dishonor.

“This Fire Lord is at your mercy,” is what Zuko tells her.

“Yes,” Katara laughs lightly at him, woefully unaware of the true depths of his words. “I suppose he is.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **this chapter is rated ~r.  
>  comments are ♡.**

Zuko lets Katara drag him back to the stables, but not before slipping through the kitchens to grab something to eat. Appa is far happier to see her than him, but he cannot blame the sky-bison—her presence makes him just as excited, brimming with apprehension and lingering wants.

Katara nibbles at a handful of sunberries as she directs Appa south across the sea. Zuko asks her what she did to convince his head of servants to let her whisk him away from his duties this morning, of all mornings.

“They told me about the bathing you do here for 25th birthdays. I said, ‘hey! I’m a _master_ _waterbender_. Nobody is better at baths than me.’ They worried at first but, as you can see, I was rather convincing.”

Zuko hums distractedly around the last of his moonpeach. The sun has just started to crest the horizon and he is lost in the sense of deja vu, remembering a time when he wasn’t allowed to reach out and card his fingers through her billowing hair. His heart skips dangerously when Katara turns to him in question; she is holding Appa’s reins in one hand and licking leftover sunberry juice from the fingertips of the other. The image sears itself into his mind, an immediate, lustful heat scoring across his abdomen.

Katara’s eyes are bluer than the brightening morning sky as they look up at him with open ardor. Her mouth is curved into that infinitely playful tilt, and the sun's waking beams cast her in halo. 

The heat of his lust melts into something else entirely, unnamable and unmatched.

Agni help him, he wants to _kiss_ her.

Zuko leans back into the saddle, his fingers white where they fist at his knees in a bid not to brush away the tingling sensation blooming over his lips. 

Katara’s earlier words do not register until they are leaving Appa to pick through a thicket of jungle on one of the Fire Nation’s uninhabited islands. Past the small clearing of wildflowers before them steam rises lazily upward, the soft gurgle of falling water easy to hear. 

The 25th Solar Return traditions...

“Hot springs,” Zuko confirms in awe as they reach a wide outcropping of rock. There are two large pools glistening in the dim morning light, their edges covered in soft moss and tiny blooms. One rests on higher ground, feeding into the other. Katara makes an excited, triumphant sound from his side, and Zuko stills as she begins to pull quickly at the lapels of her tunic.

Zuko swallows thickly. “Katara. _What_ are you doing?”

“ _We_ are taking a bath, remember? The water here has cleansing properties.” She retorts, down to nothing but her wrappings already. She raises an eyebrow at him, her hands twisting half of her hair into a topknot. “Aren’t you going to change?”

Zuko looks at her like she’s just told him pigs don’t fly. Is she serious? Katara just laughs, says she picked a place with two pools for a reason, tells him not to worry. Zuko reluctantly lets her lead him to the upper spring where she leaves him for the lower. 

“For the bathing… I’d like to wash your hair,” she says carefully before she slowly turns on her heel. “when you’re done, that is. If it’s okay.”

Zuko nods silently, dazed, and Katara beams at him as she happily disappears. As nice as it feels as it eases the tension in his muscles, the water does nothing to help clear the idea of her tending to him they way tradition demanded. Clearly his head of servants did not entirely explain the tradition to his friend, and he is glad for it.

Sunlight soon begins to filter through the forest. Below, he can hear Katara splashing around, her content humming lulling him towards the edge of the spring, and before he knows it he is watching her, drinking in every visible inch of her lithe frame as she merrily phases through bending forms. It is just as Zuko is catching himself, admonishing and cursing himself for looking— _enjoying_ , a little too much—that Katara executes a complicated twirl, her long hair lifting away from her as she manipulates the water at her hands.

On Katara’s back, framing the curve of her hips like a set of wings, is a pair of bruises in the shape of handprints. A bite mark, on her shoulder.

They can belong to only one person.

The jealousy is as swift as the possibilities that flood Zuko’s mind; almost as swift as the hardening of his cock. Zuko jerks back in the hot water, sloshing it over the mossy edges as he sticks his knuckles between his teeth to silence the pained moan threatening to sound out. The image of Aang, brows drawn down and lips parted in concentrated pleasure as he sinuously drives into Katara from behind, has him curling his free hand around himself with a vice-like grip. 

Umber skin under his mouth, salty with sweat and burning to the touch. Tattooed hands tracing over his body encouragingly. Warmth, everywhere. Blue eyes looking up at him. How would his hands fit? Would she say his name?

“Zuko?”

Zuko cums hard into his cupped fist, his knees buckling, the pained moan ripping from the back of his throat anyway with a billow of smoke, lost under the loud splash he creates. He presses his face into the moss covered ledge of the spring, stars dancing across his vision as he tries and fails to regulate his breath of fire. Shame ricochets briefly around his heart. His knuckles are bleeding.

“Are you okay up there?”

No. He’s not. “ _Mhm,_ ” he lies. His voice sounds tight as he answers as calmly as he can. The current carries his seed away into the fall, and Zuko manages to beat back the jealousy and the lust still clawing at his chest enough to peek over the edge of the pool.

Blue eyes looking up at him. “Are you ready for me to wash your hair?”

Zuko nods silently. He tries his absolute best not to lose his composure when Katara tells him to come down.


	8. Chapter 8

Zuko feels better by lunch. The stable guards tell him that his uncle had arrived at the palace while he was away with Katara, and he parts ways with her in the family wing to greet him. Zuko unsurprisingly finds Iroh having tea with Toph in his personal gardens. 

“It’s about time, birthday man. Even Katara got up before you!” Toph exclaims from behind her teacup. Her hair is still in twin braids and she is reclining in a seat made of stone, no doubt by her own hand. Zuko finds her comment only a little odd. The others must not know?

“Nephew!” Iroh pulls him into a loving embrace that he returns eagerly. “Where have you been all morning? Your staff have been worrying at me since I stepped foot onto the palace grounds.”

Zuko thinks of cascading brunette waves and hand-shaped bruises. How quickly he’d lost that battle of honor with himself.

“ _Cleansing._ ” He nearly curses the word. Iroh seems to find some amusement in this.

“ _Ah,_ ” his uncle starts sagely, leading him towards Toph. “the first 25th Solar Return traditions. The bathing on one’s 25th birthday must be completed by a cleanser of opposite sex as an omen of fertility. I hear it can be _quite_ the humbling experience.”

Zuko thinks of being hushed by the babble of warm water with Katara’s legs around his shoulders, her fingers scratching gently across his scalp as she washed his hair from where she sat along the lip of the spring, and how he’d immediately fallen into a post release doze with his face against the inside of her thigh. _You’re_ drooling _on me, Zuko_ she’d laughed at him when she’d nudged him awake.

“In some ways more than others.” He admits to his uncle, a blush dusting across his cheeks.

Toph’s teasing laughter is followed quickly by Iroh’s deep and amused chuckle. Iroh pats Zuko heavily on his back with understanding.

“There is no shame in humility, nephew.” 

Zuko cannot tell Iroh how wrong he is.

“Well?” Toph asks imploringly, smirking. “Who was it, Sparky? Someone we know?”

Iroh turns to his nephew in silent, yet palpable curiosity. Zuko eyes how Toph’s toes disappear into the grass, a clear sign that her feet are pressed firmly onto the ground. 

“My cleanser was appointed by the head of servants.” He answers plainly. Regal, even. “It was no one out of the ordinary.”

There is still absolutely nothing ordinary to him about Katara, but she wasn’t out _of_ the ordinary, either. Zuko maintains his breath of fire. Will Toph—?

Iroh hums into his tea when Toph only scrunches her nose at him in reluctant dismissal.

Zuko tries not to feel too smug. They are two for zero and he knows that she knows it. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **comments are ♡.**

“Excuse me, My Lord,” the palace’s head of servants bows his way into the war room, bravely interrupting Suki’s security report. “it is time for your dressing.”

Zuko gives a nod of acknowledgement and turns to quickly survey all else in attendance—generals, admirals, the head of his personal guard, Toph. He knows that his men are aware that he expects nothing less than absolute cooperation with his friends but it pleases him to remind them anyway. 

“I trust Lady Beifong and Lady Suki with my life,” He intones sternly as he takes his leave. “So shall you.”

His celebratory robes are white and gold this year, made from Earth Kingdom silks and embroidered with a sun of red flame along the back. Zuko admires the garb with satisfaction as his servants pull carefully at his hair. Royal customs dictate that he no longer wear it solely in a topknot, but much more freely at the age of 25. It almost startles him how much he looks like his mother.

“Wow. You look amazing, Zuko!” Aang exclaims when Zuko emerges from the palace salon. Sokka is with him, and they are both adorning their finished party clothes. 

“Yeah,” Sokka agrees, grinning slyly as he slings his arm over Zuko’s shoulders. “ _extremely_ hotpants this year. I think it’s your hair.”

Zuko lets his hands from the arms of his robe and touches almost nervously at the neat ends of his waist-length locks. “I look like my mother.”

“And your mother is beautiful,” Aang retorts calmly. There is the strangest of small smiles on his mouth that makes Zuko’s lips tingle, and Aang’s clear gray eyes seem caught in a curious gleam as they bore into his. “I’m sure that she’d be proud of you.”

Zuko’s voice does _not_ falter into a tiny, grateful whisper. “Thank you, Aang.”

“Hey, we’re here for you, man! Don’t ever forget it.” Sokka says, leading them towards the southern wing of the palace. “Now, Suki told me that you’re supposed to address the nation real soon. We’re supposed to bring you out right away but I heard that the fire flakes are going to be fresh off the pit right about now, so—“

“Just _go_ , Sokka,” Aang laughs, not without a hint of exasperation. “tell whoever you need to tell that the Avatar is escorting the Fire Lord.”

“I know the way, Aang,” Zuko reminds playfully as Sokka vanishes quickly in the direction of the kitchens. He gestures vaguely behind him at the silent sentry keeping to his shadow. “and I have guards. Shouldn’t you be at the balcony with Uncle?”

Iroh and Aang have announced him with a speech on his birthday every year for his nation’s address—something used to ease his anxieties as the new Fire Lord. By now it was simply expected. Aang raises one shoulder in a small shrug. The strange little smile has not left his mouth, and Zuko has to slip his hands back into the arms of his robes so that Aang will not spot his tightened fists.

“I wanted to see you.” 

Zuko’s heart thumps dangerously, reckless hope and well founded apprehension a terrifying cocktail that seizes at his chest. “Oh?” He manages to respond, eyes resolutely ahead. “Is there something you wished to discuss?”

Aang's laughter is honest and soft. “I need an excuse?”

Relief. Disappointment? “Of course not.” Zuko responds a little too quickly for his own liking. He clears his throat at Aang’s amused look to keep from blushing, but quickly regains his composure as they come upon his uncle and an array of accompanying staff. 

Aang and Iroh are met with the excitable cheers of his people, just as he is when he steps into the early evening sun. He is eternally glad for his people’s support and he tells them as much, yet encourages them to celebrate responsibly for though today it is their lord’s birthday, tomorrow is the solstice, and that is when the real fun begins.

“It is tradition for the Fire Lord to celebrate amongst his people on the night of the solstice,” Zuko reminds enthusiastically, truly looking forward to walking through the busy streets with his family again. “Let the eve’s celebration begin.”

“You get smoother every year! You don’t even need me for this part anymore.” Aang tells him under the roar of the crowd, leading him carefully by the elbow back into the palace. Iroh agrees, a fond and proud look about his features as he heads them to the ballrooms, where he moves to announce Zuko again. 

Aang and Zuko pause in brief companionable silence in the middle of the hall. Aang has not let up his gently firm grip from Zuko’s arm, is absently rubbing a half moon pattern across his skin through the alabaster fabric, and Zuko tries his hardest not to let it disrupt his heartbeat anymore than it already has—or to think about bruises in the shape of handprints, framed like wings.

“Ready?” Aang asks as applause soon leaks from under the ballroom doors. He’s smiling that smile again, the one Zuko can’t read. Aang’s secret little look suddenly cracks into a grin, reassuring and much more familiar with the warmth it sends down Zuko’s abdomen. 

Zuko can only nod, afraid his voice will fail him. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ten chapters!! wooo!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Night has come quickly, and the Fire Lord’s 25th Solar Return celebration is fully underway.

Zuko discretely raises his glass of firewhiskey to his uncle as he makes himself scarce. He has made his rounds with several nobles already, an act that he could easily perform in his sleep, but not even the energetic burn of the alcohol he sips can prepare him to exchange pleasantries with the Sun family. As it stands, his uncle has swiftly intercepted Mai and her parents. Zuko determines that by the end of the night he will owe Iroh another batch of the Southern Water Tribe’s famous arctic willow tea. 

With the thought in mind, it does not take him long to zero in on the snippets of muted blue silk that tease at him from the crowded dance floor. The blues are followed by slashes of deep green, and then again by tones of jade. Zuko peers through the crowd with a fond smirk starting to pull at his face. Sokka and Suki are twirling Toph merrily between them to the music, exuberantly teaching her the steps to new dances.

A light breeze brushes by Zuko in the same moment that a distant ripple of orange catches his eye, beckoning him forward and towards the torch-lit gardens where another dancing crowd has formed. In the setting sunlight at the center of attention are Aang and Katara, masterfully spinning in and out of one another’s space as they always did, stunning as they always were, no different from the years before.

Except this year _is_ different. This year Zuko knows exactly where not to look, which means that he is indeed _looking._

Aang’s fingers brushing briefly along the edge of Katara’s jaw, at the top of her sternum, over the decorative gold chain knotted at her exposed waist where only inches lower lay a pair of marks that haunt the shadows of his every waking thought since discovery. Katara returns the touches with an unreadable look that reminds Zuko of thunderclouds, her hands lingering at Aang’s wrist, over his mouth, coming together to slide down the curve of his throat and to rest over his exposed collarbone.

“Your whiskey, My Lord.” A nearby guard quietly points out to him. Zuko tears his eyes away from Aang hooking Katara into the crook of his arm, away from Katara’s blush and the demure tilt of Aang’s lips. The firewhiskey in his tumbler is bubbling harshly with jealous heat, the sides of the glass threatening to glow with the intensity. Zuko nods stiffly in thanks to his guard, annoyed that he may have been caught. He pulls the heat from the alcohol with a sharp inhale—abruptly knocks back the entire contents of the glass as he turns on his heel.

He is going to need a lot more firewhiskey if he is going to make it to dinner with the rest of his honor intact.

“Zuko!” Aang, warm and cheerful from across the garden. Zuko stills, everything opposite. “Dance with me!”

Zuko nearly flushes to the roots of his hair as the surrounding crowds suddenly erupt in encouraging and eager cheers at the loud request. He looks over his shoulder at Aang with something akin to disdain, careful to keep the scowl from reaching his mouth, but Aang only beams at him. He is nearing with Katara’s hand in his, their fingers interlaced.

Zuko looks away as the empty glass in hand cracks, the sound lost under the music and the conversations of the people coming to crowd them. Zuko is glad that the cup has not cut him, lest Katara see it, and he quickly gives the broken ware away to a watchful servant.

“Happy birthday, Zuko!” 

Blue gloved hands, embroidered with swirls of Fire Nation gold, circle around his waist. Katara quickly comes to stand before him, her smile happy and pleased. It registers that he saw her just this morning, but it somehow feels like days. He returns her embrace tentatively, catching Aang’s gaze over her shoulder. Zuko shoots him a questioning look—that _smile_ is on his face again.

Zuko almost freezes completely when Katara presses a kiss to his cheek, along the edge of his scar. She pulls back and holds him at arms length, the usual playful tilt to her mouth something more affectionate. She tells him that he looks dashing with his hair down, laughs at his flustered thanks before disappearing into the crowds.

“Well?” Zuko turns to see Aang bowing at the waist, gracefully holding out his hand with an expectant glitter to his gray eyes. People are watching, waiting. “May I have this dance?”

“ _Aang_.”

“ _Trust_ me,” Aang says, grabbing Zuko’s hand with comfortable ease and leading him to the center of the floor. “you know this one.”

He does. In fact, he has done the Dance of The Dragon as a warm up before every firebending exercise since Aang made him learn it the first time. It has been far too long since they last practiced together. Zuko finds himself matching Aang’s grin half way through as they circle closer to one another; as their dance turns into a performance. Aang shoots playful bursts of sparks to collect into the air above them like fireworks as they move in a wide arc, elicting _oohs_ and _ahhs_. Zuko trails careful, thin lines of fire after the sparks, wound like dragons, because he is not to be outdone. The display is met with applause and more rambunctious cheering—it is not often that the Fire Lord indulges in such behavior. 

Laughter is tumbling freely from Zuko by the time their dance comes to an end, the firewhiskey successful in its job. He matches Aang’s bow, his smile, maybe even the glad and satisfied gleam in his gray eyes. There is a pleasant thing of a haze settling over him as he drinks in the slowly questioning tilt of Aang’s chin. 

The royal crowd suddenly seems far, far away.

Zuko wants to _tell_ him.

He is saved from the shuddering, lonely feeling of vehement self denial by the loud bellow of gongs and Iroh’s voice rising above the noise. It is time for dinner. 


	11. Chapter 11

Zuko wakes slowly on the day of the summer solstice much later in the morning than is typically acceptable for the Fire Lord, but yesterday was his _25th_ _birthday_. He deducts that his head of servants and members of the councils will surely understand his tardiness. He lays comfortable and still in the cool silken sea of his bed, dazed from a night of entertainment yet turning restless from the energy that the sun pours into him. 

Abruptly, Zuko remembers how Aang had excused himself after their dance—how he had left with swift, urgent steps as he’d headed straight for Katara and then swept her from her conversation and into his arms, kissed her like _no one_ was watching. The scene had been met with wolf whistles. Aang’s hands had slipped into her hair, and he’d tilted her head back in that distinctively hungry way that Zuko had seen him do before, after being chased on waves and pressed into a tree. 

The action had confused him terribly for reasons he cannot pinpoint, and the acrid taste of jealousy had followed him all the way to dinner, where Sokka and his uncle had unknowingly knocked it out of him by goading him into drinking games. 

Zuko feels no jealousy now as he recalls the moment. Only lust.

His hand curls with ease over his hardening cock—he had fallen into bed completely bare. 

Katara’s stormy gaze. Aang’s mouth quirked into that curious smile… Zuko’s mind whirls with memories of the night before, his strokes starting lazily. His breath hitches when he remembers the brush of Katara’s lips across his cheek. His grip tightens and quickens as he thinks of Aang’s seemingly intense stare in the shadow of their firelight, dancing with him. That _kiss_ , how easily Katara melted into Aang’s hold.

A faint moan dislodges itself from Zuko’s throat. That’s what _he_ wants. His chest heaves and his knees knock apart, and he yanks his sheets away from himself in mounting frustration. His need for release is doubly fueled by the solstice sun. Zuko remembers the imprint of teeth on Katara’s shoulder, and how he knows that she does not bruise easily. The handprints, and just how tight Aang would have to hold to leave them. Would Aang be different with him? Gentle? Soft?

He thinks again of how Aang greedily kissed Katara last night, so blatantly underlined with demand, and hopes not.

“I took the liberty of gathering everyone to discuss the details of tonight,” Suki says to him later when he walks into the war room. She is once again spearheading the meeting with palace security in his stead, and is watching him with light amusement, no doubt because of his absence. “I hope you do not find it inappropriate of me, Lord Zuko.”

“Not at all, Lady Suki.” Zuko waves his generals at ease and offers an anecdote about trying—failing—to out-drink the Dragon of The West and is met with a round of good hearted chortles. He smirks discreetly at Suki as he assumes his seat at the head of the room. “Please, continue.”

Threats against the crown have been low this year, but the generals insist that the Fire Lord ride in a guarded palanquin for the entire duration of his participation in the solstice festival. Suki argues that Zuko will not be alone, further flanked by guards and herself, but feels that the palanquin is unnecessary. Zuko makes a compromise; a select stealth unit from his personal guard and a palanquin on the way back to the palace. Suki and the generals agree, but only if he wears his dao. 

Zuko resists the laughter that bubbles up at that. He was planning to bring his swords, anyway. He never leaves the palace without them. Suki surprises him at the end of the meeting by asking him to stay back and speak with him.

“Is this a friendly conversation or a professional one?” He asks.

Suki only smiles at him, her steel blue eyes bright with the amusement she had set aside to continue the meeting. Friendly, then. Zuko nods at her, keeps his seat and beckons for her to join him. She slips easily onto the arm of his chair.

“What can this Fire Lord do for you, Head Kyoshi Lady Suki?” Zuko intones her full title playfully, genuinely curious nonetheless.

“I received a missive from King Kuei,” She starts, and then surprises him again by telling him that she needs to leave for the Earth Kingdom tomorrow night, that Sokka and Toph have agreed to go with her. 

“May I have a ship?”

“Without question, Suki. I will have a passage prepared for your departure as soon as possible.”

“... To own.”

“ _Own?_ ” Zuko’s eyebrow shoots to his hairline. Suki pulls a rare pleading face—she has never _once_ asked him for such a grand thing—explaining her desire to be able to sail freely, and how he wouldn’t need to worry about permanently giving up men for a crew because other Kyoshi Warriors would eventually join her. She is, unsurprisingly, quite convincing. 

Zuko pretends to think about it—the Fire Nation navy will certainly not miss a fleet vessel, there were too many left sitting after the war and it truly is of no consequence to relinquish one or a _hundred_ —and tells her that she can have a ship on the condition that she send monthly reports on anything the Fire Nation can assist the Kyoshi Warriors with while they are at sea.

By the end of their talk Suki is hugging him in thanks. 

“You’d think it was _your_ birthday…” Zuko grumbles, once again arm in arm with her as they leave the war room. Suki laughs and elbows him in the ribs, claiming that she knows that he’ll miss them.

“Oh, don’t act so sour, Zuko,” she apologizes for separating everyone so early, Hei Bai knows how hard it is to get everyone together. “Katara and Aang will still be here!”

It isn’t until Zuko is in the solidarity of his office, preparing her paperwork, that the reality of Suki’s words settle heavily above his lungs. 

_Katara and Aang will still be here._

Zuko shuts his eyes, upsetting his crown as he tugs sharply at his hair. Agni, give him strength.


	12. Chapter 12

“Did Sokka tell you?” Katara asks him as he nears. They are the first of their friends to gather at the palace gates so that they can enter the streets of the capital. She is dressed in crimson, her mother’s necklace ever present, and adorned in a sweeping black cloak with the royal symbol in solid gold on the clasp, a sign of her position and a sign of his protection. Zuko forces himself to focus on the underlining hurt in her tone instead of how _right_ she looks with threads of Fire Nation gold braided in with her sapphire beads.

“Suki did.” He answers simply, already sure what it is she’s speaking of. Zuko observes the upset draw of her brow. “Sokka didn’t tell you?”

Katara fixes her mouth for a reply but whatever she might have said is cut off by her brother’s nearing voice.

“Sokka _did_ tell you, baby sister.” Sokka inserts. Zuko turns to see him quickly descending the palace steps, his identical black cloak billowing behind him. “You’re just upset because I left out the fact that it’s a mission.”

Katara snarls, incredulous. “That’s not the _point_ , jackass—“

“Stop, stop.” Zuko interrupts before the siblings can start their heated bickering. He levels a glare at them both, but ultimately locks his gaze with Katara’s; now he _knows_ why she is upset. “My feelings are not hurt, Katara. It’s _okay._ Let’s just focus on spending the evening enjoying ourselves.”

“Well said, Sparky!” Toph skips towards them ahead of Suki and Aang, one of whom she leads by the hand, the other by wrist. “We’re too old to be arguing as it is. Let go have some _fun_.”

Sokka makes it up to Katara by winning her a prize in the first game they see. It’s an incredibly soft polar-dog plushie that Toph lights up at when she asks to feel it, so Zuko wins her one, too. Aang and Suki insist on visiting the circus, and they spend hours taking turns to buy snacks while they watch Ty Lee expertly dance through rings of fire and all other precarious things. Zuko makes sure to bow to her at the waist in thanks for all to see at the end of the show.

“She was incredible, as always!” Suki exclaims, tightening her black cloak as they depart from the circus tents. The sun is just shy of starting to set, and the ocean is bringing a heavy breeze.

“If you’ve seen it once you’ve seen it a thousand times,” Toph says, garnering a collective sigh of fond exasperation.

“The fireworks will start soon.” Zuko has had their dinner arranged to be taken to the capital’s newly finished garden of Agni this year. “We’re watching from somewhere different this time, so we should get going.”

Suki lingers to assure him that the palanquins will be waiting for them when they arrive. Zuko thanks her as he always has for bothering to take up work on what was supposed to be her vacation, and they fall into step with their friends easily. 

They stop twice on their way to their destination, once so that Aang and Zuko can light paper lanterns for a group of children, and again because “Oh. My. Spirits. _Frosted_ fire flakes!?” 

Toph takes the liberty to erect a nice lofty platform for them to picnic on after they’ve settled in the clearing of the sprawling shrine grounds. It’s clear above the trees and far cooler than the distant glittering streets below. Yue is but a barely visible crescent, only the stars and the torii gate’s torches their source of light. Sokka thanks Toph for bending a patch of land that _happens_ to have a bush and sets about cutting its branches away with his boomerang. 

Aang is sitting along the edge of their pillar, a ball of fire afloat in his palm as he looks out towards the sea. Katara pauses in helping Zuko unpack their food. “Aang?” she asks, and promptly has his attention. She slips off her cloak and holds it out to him. “Will you warm this up for me?”

Aang grins and obliges happily, dons her cloak over his own. He easily takes up a meditative position, fire in hand.

“Here,” Zuko immediately slips off his dao, and then his own cloak—maroon instead of black, heavier with an inline of armor, embroidered just the same—and rests it over Katara’s shoulders. “wear mine for now.”

“Katara, you’re a genius.” Toph chucks her cloak at Zuko. “Do mine too, Lord Hotman.”

“If we’re done playing musical-clothes…” Sokka interjects, sticks for a fire laden in his bare arms. He has already layered his cloak over Suki’s, who quickly moves to arrange the firewood in the middle of their haphazard circle.

Aang carefully streams his ball of fire into the pile and soon everyone is warm. Fireworks finally accompany them as they begin to eat, appreciable imitations of Ran and Shaw’s raw energy. They bicker with one another over which displays are better, and Toph exclaims that she likes them all from where she is laid back with her eyes closed, a chocolate-pepper tart in hand.

Sokka starts to agree, then, “Toph, _why_.” 

“ _Why_ do you keep falling for it, you mean?”

Laughter breaks out between them. Zuko latches on to the feeling, knowing that this is what will carry him until the next year. 

The palanquin ride home is calm and quiet. Toph is grumbling to Suki that she wants to go to bed when they are once again at the palace steps, and Sokka agrees. Zuko urges them on, seeing as how they have a full day of preparing to set sail ahead of them, and he smiles fondly when Sokka tsks, swiftly scoops Toph into his arms at her demand. Suki bids Zuko a good night as they make their way inside.

Behind him, Aang is doing much the same as Sokka has. Katara had fallen asleep halfway into the palanquin ride home, and neither of them had had any success in rousing her enough to get her to walk. 

“Zuko,” Aang whispers urgently as he lands from the palanquin with a slowing gust, Katara stirring only slightly in his hold. “Zuko, her hair is caught in my cloak…”

Zuko laughs quietly from where he has made it to the first landing of the steps and beckons Aang forward. Aang cuts the air around them as he clears the steps in a single graceful leap, carefully hunched over Katara’s form so as not to worsen the terribly domestic situation. Zuko frees her stray hairs from where they have caught in the cloak’s golden clasp, tucking the strands behind her ear. He is careful not to let his touch linger, all too aware of Aang's eyes on him.

“It’ll just be us three for next two weeks.” Aang keeps his voice low as he falls into stride with Zuko. “What are we going to do?”

Zuko raises his eyebrow at him. “I’m more than happy to put you to work, Aang.”

“And I’m happy to help, but that’s not what I mean.” Aang shakes his head with a chuckle, pausing minutely to shift Katara around in his hold. “With everyone here we were able to go out together a lot until you were free to see us.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Zuko says in sudden understanding. They wanted to have fun with him but not be bored without him. Laughter escapes him again. “I’m starting to see that I haven’t told you all enough about Solar Return traditions. I am actually surprised that _you_ haven’t heard of them.”

Aang comes to a halt; they have reached his and Katara’s shared suite, just a single hallway over from the royal family chambers. “Meaning…?” Aang asks.

In Aang’s arms, Katara twists, her brows tugging downward as she tries to find comfort in the hollow of his throat.

“ _Meaning_ we will talk about it later.” Zuko reaches over and slides open the bedroom doors. “Take her to bed, Aang. Get some rest.”

“Right, right. Thank you, Zuko.”

There it is—that smile. Again. _Again._ What on earth does it mean, and why does it make him so stupidly warm? Zuko looks away— _has_ to—and bids his friend a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: long-boy special. the time is nigh... **comments are ♡.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh... world building... [sighs in fic writer]

After a jubilant breakfast the next morning, Zuko calls a family meeting. His friends follow him curiously from the dining area to one of the sunrooms down the hall, Suki leading Toph by hand. Though the sun might not bother Aang or himself, it is much too hot this early to gather them in the gardens like he normally would, but he makes up for that by having a pitcher of fizzy watermelon-lemonade brought in, one of his uncle’s recently famous drinks.

“Katara.” Zuko calls once a servant has filled his glass. She turns to him with a raised eyebrow, and Zuko grins sheepishly. “Will you slush this for me?”

Katara blinks owlishly at him before bursting into giggles, immediately joined by Sokka and Aang. “ _Sure_ , Zuko.” She laughs, rising to meet him. “For a second there I thought you were going to yell at me about something.”

“ _Slush?_ Do mine, Twinkletoes.” Toph demands, holding up her glass in Aang’s general direction.

“I’d ask for slush, too, but, mine’s already gone.” Sokka sighs. Suki snorts, and a servant appears to quickly fill Sokka’s glass again. “Why, _thank_ you. Hey, Aang...”

“So, Sifu Hotman,” Aang hedges lightly, moving to sit as Suki waves him away at his offer to also slush her drink. “why the _family meeting_? Is something going on?”

“Yeah, Zuko.” Katara peers at Zuko from where she still stands at his side, lazily cajoling her own drink into slush form. “Is everything okay?”

Zuko takes a sip of his lemonade, enjoying how steam rises from glass. “Everything is fine,” he assures them, catching Aang’s gaze. “I want to tell you all about the 25th Solar Return traditions. I figure now would be best, seeing as how half of us will be departing this evening.”

A beat of acknowledging silence weighs over them, to which Sokka clears his throat pointedly. 

“ _Right_ ,” Sokka says, pretending to get comfortable on his cushion. “I heard a few nobles mentioning something about this during your birthday party. What is it, exactly?”

Zuko gestures for Katara to sit, avoiding her eyes, and takes up his own spot front and center of his friends. He’d considered the possible approaches to this part of the conversation over and over before finally managing to rest last night. _Like ripping bandages_ he’d told himself, but it doesn’t stop the nervousness from creeping between his ribs. 

“The people of the Fire Nation have some of the longest lifespans,” Zuko starts. “before the war—in times of _real_ peace—many of us lived to see past the age of one hundred. The Solar Return traditions are a celebration of that, a performance of thanks towards Agni. Every twenty-five years those born of fire are excused completely from their duties to undertake a set of four rituals. Each ritual is commonly referred to as cleansing, resting, hunting, and sharing. Each of these rituals lasts a full month, though sometimes The Cleansing and The Resting may overlap.”

Zuko pauses to take another sip of his drink. Toph tilts her head curiously at him.

“You already did cleansing.” Toph says matter of factly. She turns towards the others with a large grin then, and Zuko hopes that the Dai Li will suddenly appear and make the floor open up under him. “Guys, I know this one. Iroh said that The Cleansing is when you’re bathed by someone of the opposite sex as an _omen of fertility_. Apparently sex is totally encouraged.”

Katara nearly chokes on her lemonade. “ _What?_ ”

“Toph is correct. The Cleansing is also typically performed in the nude.” Zuko interjects quickly, staring hard into his glass. Katara falls into a coughing fit and Aang pats her carefully on the back. 

_Ripping bandages._

Zuko ignores how Toph’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline and presses forward. “It is not... _uncommon…_ for The Cleansing to result in coupling. But it’s more than that.”

Aang looks as if he wants to say something, but it’s Sokka that leans forward with a jesting grin and waggling eyebrows. “Are you trying to tell us that you’re finally getting laid again?”

“No, Sokka. That’s not the point.” Zuko refutes flatly. He lets his gaze flicker to Katara in concern, who is hastily downing the last of her drink. “Not that it’s any of your business if I am. It’s—“

“Zuko…” Suki makes a face at him. “It’s _kind of_ our business.” 

“Yeah, Sparky. Who did you say performed your cleansing, again?” Toph’s eyebrows have not come down from her hairline. Zuko is suddenly very glad that she is leaving with Suki and Sokka tonight. “I didn’t.” He retorts curtly. “If you’re _done_ , I’d like to continue.”

“Oh, _do_ go on, Zuko.” Katara suddenly encourages, overly polite and quiet. “Why don’t you tell us everything?”

Sokka raises an eyebrow at his sister, Aang and Suki, too, but Zuko regains their attention by clearing his throat. Katara’s duplicity is not lost on him, and he is infinitely wary of her icy glare, is _foolishly_ unable to resist admiring the prominent angry blush still dusting her cheeks. It makes his thoughts scatter for just a moment too long, and he has to sip on the last of his lemonade in order to gather himself.

“The Resting ritual is exactly as it says; it is simply a period of rest, or free-time, if you will. Many people take this time to traverse the Isles or visit family, but seeing as how I am the Fire Lord, I will simply be cutting down on meetings next month.”

“Wait, so you’re still performing The Cleansing?” Aang asks.

It’s Katara’s turn to raise her eyebrows to her hairline. The look she is now giving him is indescribable, and Zuko wants nothing more than to curse. Why is Aang always so perceptive? 

“I forwent The Cleansing yesterday, as I will today. The ritual will resume tomorrow.” Zuko admits. 

“ _Oh_.” Aang says. “Why are you skipping days?” Suki asks.

“You’re aware that the solstice festival requires my full attention every year. Cleansing is a very time consuming ritual when performed properly.” Zuko shrugs, ignoring Toph and Sokka’s little snickers. “Today you are leaving. I am sure Agni will not mind.”

Sokka and Toph quiet.

“What about The Hunting ritual?” Suki asks. Zuko silently thanks Agni for her presence.

“The Hunting is a series of physical tests. Centuries ago, this ritual was overseen by the dragons, as the result of passing would be that one is given an egg to raise as their own. This is obviously no longer the case.” Zuko shakes his head minutely at Aang, who gives him a knowing look. “In recent decades The Hunting consists of a pilgrimage across the most unforgiving jungle in the nation and returning with a worthy prize, be that your life or something more physical. This leads directly into The Sharing.”

Toph waves her hands. “Let me guess, a giant feast?”

“Sometimes, if the prize of the hunt is food.” Zuko agrees. “In all truth, The Sharing is a ritual that is much more spiritually oriented than the others. It is an extended exchange of energy, of presence. Of _fire_. One might say that we are participating in a form of The Sharing right now.”

“I understand.” Aang says immediately, but Zuko has to stop the smile that threatens him, for much more threatening is the very sudden glint that has sparked in Sokka's cobalt stare.

“So basically you’re on a really cool spiritual vacation.” Sokka says, but it comes out as if he’s talking to himself. He frowns as he looks at Zuko. “You’re _actually_ on vacation for the first time in almost a decade and we’re _leaving_ for _work._ Zuko, brother. Why the hell didn’t you tell us about this sooner?”

“Yeah, Zuko.” Katara’s eyes are still narrowed at him. “Why didn’t you _tell us_ sooner?”

 _She is going to kill me_ Zuko thinks, ignoring Toph's sudden loud hum. Katara is going to drown him right here in front of their family and his servants, he is sure, if he does not explain The Cleansing to her. He can tell by the way her empty glass has frosted over in her hands, and by the obvious spark of something akin to betrayal in her eyes. A familiar and painful feeling twists Zuko’s gut when he recognizes the look, remnant of crystal catacombs and _fuck you_ ’s at a cliff side. 

“Guys, guys. I’m sure there’s a reason,” Suki nods along to Aang’s defense of him, but Zuko stops him before he can continue any further.

“I have nothing but excuses and for that I am sorry.” Zuko looks from Sokka to Katara, pleading with the weight of his gaze. “Though I hoped you would participate… _Unexpected_ events kept me from announcing the Solar Return traditions to you properly. You’ve all been here for only little more than over a week. I simply thought I would have more time to explain things naturally instead of having to meet like this.”

A silence leaning on uncomfortable hangs between them. A newly unreadable look shifts over Katara’s features, and Sokka crosses his arms over his chest, clearly still bothered.

“Yeah, well. I forgive you.” Toph says, abruptly rising from her cushions. “Your tradition is, what, four months long? We’re only going east for a little while. It’s not like we can’t come back to celebrate with you. _Right_ Sokka?”

Sokka looks up at Toph, who’s unseeing eyes have locked onto him with unsettling clarity. 

“... Right. You’re right, Toph. Thanks for telling us, Zuko.” Sokka concedes. Still, he turns to Zuko and points at him threateningly. “I swear, though. You go hunting without me and I’ll tan your hide southern proper in front of _everybody_ , Fire Lord or not. Got it?”

Zuko knows that Sokka is mostly serious—he has been trying to get Zuko to go on hunting trips with him for _ages_ —but he can’t help the laugh that falls out of him at his friend’s antics. “I got it, Sokka.”

“Good, because I—“

“Sokka…” Suki rolls her eyes and stands too, pulling him up with her before he can really get started. “There’s only a few hours until lunch. You can finish yelling at Zuko then. How about we focus on checking out the ship for now? There’s a lot to do.”

“Aye,” Toph says, holding out her hand before Sokka can disagree. Sokka takes her hand with a grumble, and Suki beams gratefully at him. Before Zuko knows it he is alone with Aang and Katara, Sokka’s _I’m watching you_ gesture and Toph’s whispered _good luck, Sparks_ replaying immediately in his head—but when he turns to look, Katara has risen, too, and she is very decidedly not looking at him.

A lump forms in his throat when she quietly excuses herself. Zuko can feel the ricochet of anxiety rattling around his chest, familiar and old all at once. Aang is staring at him now, the confusion in the furrow of his brow a written reflection of Zuko’s own. 

_What the hell am I supposed to say, now?_

“I don’t know what you did Zuko, but she’ll be alright.”

Zuko’s gaze snaps to Aang’s. So, _so_ perceptive. He takes in a shaky breath. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what’s happening, exactly,” Aang shrugs. “but she’s not lashing out at you so she can’t be that angry. Whatever it is, she’ll forgive you if you just apologize.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Aang’s eyebrow reaches the line of his tattoo as if to ask Zuko if his question is serious. Zuko can’t resist letting out a chuckle; a look like that from Aang speaks volumes.

“Right. Thank you.” Zuko says. He clears his throat for the thousandth time this morning. “Well. Now you know why you’re free to see me for the rest of your stay. Whenever you like.”

“Are you busy now—after this?”

Zuko blinks. “I don’t have to be.”

“Great!” Aang grins, bright and warm like sunshine. “I’ve been meaning to ask you to spar with me. Will you?”

Zuko can’t remember a time that he has wanted to run away to his office and bury himself in paperwork as badly as he does now, but he does not have the will to even consider denying Aang’s hopeful disposition. Next to Suki, Aang is the only one who doesn’t want to presently throttle him—because while Toph might not be upset with him in any real way she _certainly_ loves handing him his own ass for _fun_ —and, perhaps—

Aang narrows his eyes and purses his mouth, drawing Zuko’s attention to the fullness of his bottom lip and _for fucks sake now isn’t the time to observe just how incredibly kissable the Avatar is_. 

“Unless you’re scared that I’m a better firebender?”

 _Oh?_ Zuko narrows his eyes in return, a warning, but Aang only stands leisurely, keeps his features carefully neutral. It’s a trick to stop him from thinking too hard and Zuko _knows_ it, but it doesn’t really make him feel any better, only makes hot indignation and a streak of competitiveness roll over him. It’s far too early in the day to let such things get under his skin.

“Careful, Aang.”

“Or what? You’ll throw fire at me?” Aang walks backwards out of the room, lifting his tunic over his head in clear invitation as he goes. “Sorry Zuko but that’s _kind of_ what I’m hoping for.”

Zuko doesn’t know when he actually stops thinking—or when he stands, or when he starts to follow Aang down the halls. All he knows is the beckon of sky-blue ink over toned planes of pale tan and the dryness in his mouth, the charming curve of Aang’s belligerent and triumphant grin. For a moment he wonders if Aang knows how he looks, sauntering through the palace half naked; if he looks that way when he’s leading to bed. Zuko can imagine it, easily. It replaces the icy blue stares in his mind, and he lets it send heat blazing down his veins, cease his worry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> working on [honorfall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543864). here’s some extra food.. **comments are ♡.**

It is barely dawn the next day, and Zuko stands at the edge of the glowing green waters of the royal onsen, the one that’s set into the cave deep under his private garden and is only accessible by secret passages and firebending locks. The pool is large, a ridged outcropping of dark volcanic obsidian that reflects light like glass. There are dozens of golden jugs and crystal jars of oils and soaps surrounding the end of it, personal favorites having been added to the collection at the end of every Fire Lord’s reign. 

The spring is almost a sacred place, and Katara is standing in the middle of it.

To say that Zuko is surprised to see her is an understatement. After entertaining Aang he had immediately returned to burying himself in trade agreements and missives alike. When he looked up next it had been time to escort Sokka, Suki, and Toph to the docks. Of course, he had inspected the ship himself to ensure that his friends had everything they could possibly need before setting off for their journey. He had not seen Katara—or Aang, again—until it had been truly time to see the departing trio through the gates of Azulon. They appeared together by way of Aang’s glider to say their goodbyes, but Katara hadn’t spared him a glance then, either. 

Now she stands before him, knee deep in the onsen’s sparkling green mineral waters, a sight to behold in the low lighting of the flickering tiki lamps. He’d been expecting his originally scheduled Cleanser, appointed by the Fire Sages and approved by his head of servants daily. Yet there _she_ was, wearing the short, thin red yukata that Cleansers usually wore, sending his pulse scattering.

Zuko freezes in the middle of untying his robe.

“What are you doing here?” He asks carefully.

“A—Aang’s idea. We, um. We had the head of servants bring me here.”

Zuko only nods, unable to rake his gaze away. Katara is facing him, focused on the buoying orb of water that she commands with her fingers—but Zuko’s focus is on how the thin red garb is soaked to every curvilinear line of her, and how there’s rivulets if water falling away from her collarbone. He swallows as Katara’s words register with her movement; she lets the orb of water stream into the glowing pool with a lazy wave, and Zuko catches himself with a hard swallow. He had managed to fully explain The Cleansing to Aang between bursts of fire, eventually confessing to him that Katara had appointed herself the position, though innocently. It spoke to Zuko in several volumes that Aang would send her back, and while it told him that Aang must’ve told Katara the truth behind the ritual, the rest of those volumes do nothing but ring warning bells of confusion in his head.

Maybe he should have made it clear that he still would have liked to discuss things with Katara himself, but it is just like Aang to try and mediate. Zuko concludes that going about it this way isn’t the _worst_ way, so he takes in a deep breath to center himself, the fire in the tiki lamps rising and fading with the action. “I’m guessing that Aang shared with you what I told him yesterday..?”

Katara sighs. “He did. I didn’t know that The Cleansing is more of a _health_ thing. I…” Katara looks at him and away again. “I assumed too much. I’m sorry for my reaction, Zuko.”

“No, don’t. I would have liked to talk about it in depth myself yesterday, but with everyone asking questions it still managed to get glossed over. It’s a lot, really.” Zuko shakes his head. “I should have come to you at the beginning, Katara. That’s my mistake.”

Secretly, Zuko blames the burn of jealousy that he still battles in the safety of his favorite hidden places, and behind the heavy golden doors of his bedchamber where only an empty sea of cool sheets keeps tabs on the fever of his desire for her; the plain and ugly truth of his actions. He offers a hesitant smile in return for the one Katara gives him, the tension not quite falling out of his shoulders. 

“Will you forgive me?”

“I don’t know, Zuko. Have you apologized yet?”

Zuko blanches as he realizes that, no, actually. He hasn’t yet, and the irony of _that_ is not lost on him either. He fixes his mouth over a hasty stammer, but he stops as Katara snorts, her blue eyes glittering with mirth.

“Just get in the water, Zuko.”

He does not move from the edge of the onsen. “I’m sorry, Katara.”

“Thank you. You are forgiven.” Katara crosses her arms over her chest and shifts to cock her hip, upsetting the water, mirth still bright in her expectant stare. Zuko chains away the flicker of shame so that he can focus on the indication at hand. She wanted him to get in the water...

“You’re… going to be my Cleanser today?”

“Hey,” a smirk pulls at Katara’s mouth. “I’m a _master waterbender_. Nobody is better at health stuff than me.”

If he’s recalling correctly, it’s almost exactly the phrase she’d used to worm her way into the position in the first place. Zuko almost laughs, Katara’s apparent readiness to move back into friendly territory definitely infectious, but there is still something itching at the forefront of his mind. 

“Aang.” Zuko furrows his brow. “Is he _okay_ with this? Are _you_? Katara, I trust you with my life but this is kind of…”

Personal? Intimate? As close as he could ever get to _having—_?

Zuko makes an aborted sound, his hand gesturing aimlessly as words fail him. A Cleanser is meant to not only bathe him but physically _test_ his body; they can easily be considered healers, of sorts. The thing is, Katara can look into the insides of him with a single glowing hand if he simply just laid in the water, and she’s seen how long he can hold his own. Why would she _want_ to cleanse him according to tradition? Why would Aang _send her_ here after learning the truth?

How does he tell Katara that he didn’t want… _that_ , from her? Let alone _like this_.

He looks up as Katara clears her throat. She licks and bites at her bottom lip nervously for a moment, further ruining any chance Zuko has at piecing together his thoughts. “Katara…”

“N-no. I’m not going to be your Cleanser, Zuko.” Katara beckons him forward. “I’ll send the real Cleanser in after me. For now will you get in the water, please?”

Relief. Aang apparently _hasn’t_ lost his mind, so that’s good. Zuko studies Katara’s face, looking for uncertainty and finding none. “Okay,” he concedes slowly, stepping into the volcanic heated spring. “but I’m keeping my robe on, and so are you.”

“That’s…” To his surprise a vibrant blush colors Katara’s cheeks. “I only want to check your vitals and wash your hair.”

“You want to wash my hair again?”

“Yes. It’s something we do for— _friends_. In the South Pole.” She smiles a tiny little smile that makes a hint of deja vu touch at him. “It’s tradition.”

“Oh.” Zuko rather likes the pleasant surprise that blooms across his chest. He rattles his brain for the handful of times that Katara has washed his hair before, wondering. “What does it mean to your people?”

Katara sits on the lip of the spring and gestures for him to come forward again, but she doesn’t answer his question. It isn’t until she has her hands scrubbing rose oil lather into his hair, messy from sleep and wavy up top from constantly being pinned, that she speaks up. Zuko is so busy trying not to think about her inner thighs pressed to his shoulders—or the thousands of other dishonorable thoughts that revisit him with being perched between her legs—that he nearly misses it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that there was healing water under your house?”

“First of all, it’s a _palace._ ” Zuko chuckles as Katara jostles him with a knee in retaliation. “Secondly, have you met you? Only a fool would deny your demands. I am no fool.”

 _Foolish_ , maybe, but he needn’t admit that so readily to his friend. Katara laughs, an easy cadence that echoes against the obsidian walls and makes a smile pull quickly at Zuko’s mouth.

“It would have been nice to know before I stayed up late in the library looking at specially marked maps of uninhabited Fire Nation islands.” Katara grumbles goodheartedly. “I would’ve gotten more sleep…”

“I had a feeling that was the root of your complaint.” Zuko accuses, his laughter chasing after the last of hers. “Still, I thank you for wanting to adhere to the traditions of my people, Katara. It means a lot to me.”

“Yes, well.” She chuckles. “ _You_ mean a lot to me. That’s why I’m sharing my tradition with you, too.”

Zuko bites the inside of his cheek and turns to look at her, but she stops him with a sharp tug at the ends of his hair. “ _Ow_. Katara?” 

“Almost done.” She tsks and pushes him forward. “Dunk.”

Zuko dips at the guidance of Katara’s hands, a sure suspicion that she is avoiding the subject nipping at him, but Zuko cannot find it in himself to begrudge her. Had he _not_ just struggled with explaining his own? 

Zuko closes his eyes against the foxfire glow of the onsen. He allows something saccharine unfurl in his chest as he latches on to the warmth of the water, expanding the depth of his awareness to the bottom of its body. He finds mirth in how much more aware of it he is when his friend is near, how calm she makes him, even as he reaches outwards to the fires that burn around the cave. The singing call of infrared energy that he has long since identified as _Katara_ plucks at his senses; she has slipped into the space behind him, her fingers moving from his scalp to the end of his locks in languid, soothing pulls. He rises when she urges him upwards, his head tipping back as she manually wrings out his hair.

“I’d like to talk about it later, if that’s alright with you.”

Zuko blinks and turns in the water to face Katara. _Of course._ “Of course.”

“Thanks.” A sly smirk pulls her mouth. “Now we’re even, Fire Lord.”

“... Are you implying that your traditions are just as embarrassing, Your Highness?”

Katara laughs. “It could be that, yes…”

They fall into easy banter as Katara checks his heart and his head, assures him that both his body and spirit resonate out to her loud and strong. Zuko thanks her when she promises to report her findings to the Fire Sages, and he moves silently to the center of the pool when she eventually leaves the water. The thinnest wisps of steam curl up from the onsen’s surface as that stupidly thin red yukata draws his attention to Katara’s wet _everything_.

Zuko dunks into the water, content with having an excuse to not watch Katara leave now that he will be freshly plagued by her visage. A Cleanser comes in shortly after, but Zuko does not see her as she bows to him, or as she divests him of his robes and puts her hands far, near, and then exactly where he wants them. He closes his eyes and sees traces of umber, and then and only then does he let the heady weight of his dishonorable desires pour out of him.

“Finally.” Aang says late that evening when Zuko leaves his desk to meet him in the largest garden of the family wing—his _second_ favorite in all of the palace, built into the sheer cliffside with low stone walls and a direct view of the ocean, at which he pauses to take in. The moon is rising, scarcely a crescent still, and the open air is calm. “This is the most free time you’ve had in nearly a decade and I still have to have you summoned?”

“You could have summoned me sooner. I even had lunch with Uncle today.” Zuko laughs, using the immediate adoration that floods through him at Aang’s jesting words to grasp at the torches along the garden’s walls and set them alight. “I am here now, Aang. Where is Katara? And _what_ were you thinking of sending her ahead of my Cleanser?”

“I imagine she is on her way from the kitchens,” Aang says, gently accusatory, as he rises from his perch amongst a trunk of stone slab. “She practically took off when the servants explained to us that you were working through dinner. You know, when I tried to have you summoned _sooner?_ ”

“She frets,” Zuko clarifies, apologetic. The _entire place staff_ knows that a worried Katara is a terrifying Katara. “I will have to remember to be a little more careful while you’re here.”

“Perhaps you will.” Aang hums. “I think she is more worried that she washed your hair this morning and now neither of you have spoken since.”

Zuko pauses in removing his outer robe, his eyebrow raising in confusion. Aang chuckles and reaches over to finish pulling the robe from Zuko’s shoulders, draping it carefully over the low branch of a nearby maple. Zuko intones his thanks as he ponders Aang’s words; he’d ultimately enjoyed this morning and he is—was, at least—sure that there had been no lasting discomfort between Katara and himself. Why would she be worried about such a thing? Zuko joins Aang where he moves to sit along the thick stone garden wall and asks him as much.

Aang tilts his head at Zuko, his eyes gaining a questioning glint. “She didn’t explain the tradition to you, did she.”

It’s not really a question, and Zuko doesn’t really have to answer—Aang has guessed correctly and he knows it. Zuko nods anyway and Aang sighs, but not without fondness.

“It’s for her to say.” He says. “You understand.”

“You know that I do.” Zuko says automatically, though he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand anything at all, and he is almost too afraid to because Aang is smiling that _smile_ right now. “Should I _be_ worried? Though I don’t suppose you’re allowed to give me hints…”

“No, he isn’t.” Katara says at their backs, and Zuko grumbles when he is the only one that jumps, payment for tending to forget how stealthy she can be. Katara is setting a tray and a jug on the slab trunk, her gaze pointedly aloof as she peers at them. _Earthbending_ , Aang’s gleaming eyes tell him when he cuts his gaze over. 

“No, I’m not.” Aang agrees with a grin. He nods for Zuko to follow, but Zuko reaches out and stays him with a hand at his elbow. Aang leans against the stone and waits.

“Answer the other question.” Zuko demands casually, quietly.

“She wanted to share, Zuko.” Aang laughs, just as quiet. “I only encouraged her.”

Zuko moves his mouth to ask another question but Katara steps towards them expectantly, finished with arranging her spread from the kitchens, and it is easy to let the topic rest when Katara _beams_ at him like that just for eating—or when Aang beams at him for making Katara beam. Ever so suddenly, he wishes Toph had stayed instead of departing with Suki and Sokka, because at least then he would have some insight to _exactly what in Agni’s name is going on._

Zuko takes his leave in the moments that Katara starts finding her way into Aang’s lap over tea, thanking them for taking a late meal with him. He does not miss Aang’s kiss to the curve of Katara’s neck on his way out of the garden, or the way Katara runs her fingers on the blue overlining Aang’s wrist, though he is careful not to turn back.

A short red yukata makes its way into his mind when he finds his bed, and he dreams of tattooed hands bending the soaked fabric away white he watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little does zuko know that katara is just as flustered as him...


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter sixteen is Pending™ because i’m writing a new thing for zutaraang week and it is taking [clenches fist] _all_ of my effort to not let it get out of hand lmfao. enjoy y’all. **comments are ♡.**

* * *

Zuko is only mildly less surprised to see Katara in the onsen the next morning. He laughs at her because she is adorably groggy, though he quickly gives up on teasing her when the spot of water he slips into is freezing cold.

“Do _not_ mess with me.” She says with sleepy-toned conviction, but Zuko cannot help but be amused even as he agrees. Katara washes his hair with a sharp, earthy lather that he particularly likes, and he makes note of the crystal jar she bends the last of the oil back into so that he can have more made for his personal bath. It takes a few moments for Zuko to realize that Katara is no longer washing his hair, but just barely touching the tips of her fingers against the tops of his shoulders. 

“I’d like to braid it.” She says. There's a hesitation there and Zuko won’t have that, so he lets her, easily succumbing to the wave of serenity that washes over him at the pull of her hands.

“Alright,” Katara‘s voice echoes, rousing Zuko from his warm haze. Katara pulls a stream of water from the onsen and freezes it into smooth, reflective ice in front of him; she has pulled the top half of his hair into a braided knot, connected by two small ones, though she has left his fringe free. Zuko laughs as he realizes that it’s fashioned after how she used to wear _her_ hair when they were younger. “ _What?_ Some men in the Southern Water Tribe braid their hair this way, too.” Katara laughs with him, dropping into the onsen by his side and dissipating her ice. “And it’ll hold your crown just fine.”

“And my crown will look as lovely as ever.” Zuko agrees, laughter still in his tone. “Thank you.”

“Thanks for indulging me. I’ll give you a onceover, then I’ll leave you to your _omen of fertility_.” Zuko shakes his head as she copies Toph’s jesting infliction and finally turns to face her. “Though recently I have been told that I am allowed to disturb the Fire Lord whenever I like. Is it too bold of me to assume that he will be available for tea in his personal garden this afternoon?”

“I am afraid that you are indeed too bold, Princess.” Zuko says after a beat of studying her face and catching her eye, realizing that she still doesn’t quite _get_ it. “The _omen of fertility_ is _time consuming_.”

Katara pauses as she holds glowing water over his heart— _”Oh...”_ —and how _cosmically_ hilarious it is that he is telling the very woman holding his heart in every sense of the notion that he is going to bed another. The look on Katara’s face shutters into the same unreadable look she’d given him the morning of their friend’s departure. Zuko clears his throat. 

“Perhaps this evening?” He offers.

Katara snorts. “That long, huh?”

“It is a test of both virility and stamina, Katara. Besides, I have other duties to attend immediately after.” Zuko says pointedly, unable to help the regal edge of warmth that drips into his tone. “ _Length_ has nothing to do with it.”

Glowing hands ease up to his temple. “Hiding something, My Lord?” 

Katara smirks, all confidently guarded mirth, as if she’s caught him up in spinning tales. A thousand dishonorable things pile on the tip of Zuko’s tongue— _wanna see? I have nothing to hide your highness_ and _I can show you_ and _let me show you, let me, it will only take once_ —and he is glad that her hands have moved away from his heart, how terribly it has skipped. Katara is treading towards quickly scalding waters and he is just tempted enough to consider letting her burn.

“Mind your tongue, Lady.” Is what he says instead, thinking of how he is in literal hot water himself, and of a nomad with a strike of lightning possibly more terrifying than even his own. “One might consider your baseless assumptions as treason towards the throne.”

“Baseless—!”

“Are they not?” Zuko raises his eyebrow daringly, his pulse thudding in his ears. These are things he only ever said in jest with Sokka, Suki, and Toph. When did _they_ reach a point where they’re allowed to joke like this? Surely not overnight. 

“Um. T—That’s yet to be—” Katara flushes to the roots of her hair. “Are you really just going to have sex with someone when I walk out of here every morning?”

Zuko coughs, a grin flickering at his mouth at Katara’s continued boldness until her words really click. “... _Every_ morning?”

“You know, I _meant_ to lead the conversation with that? Again, Aang’s idea.”

 _Maybe Aang_ has _lost his mind_ Zuko thinks as Katara drops her hands, finished with her task. He means to ask her if he is alright, but knows that she will have made a fuss if he wasn’t, so he focuses on the loud warning bells of confusion that return to him. Is _this_ Aang’s idea of encouragement? A few times, sure. But every morning..? The disbelief must show on his face because Katara breaks their eye contact and moves away towards the deeper end of the onsen. 

“A different Cleanser is appointed daily to prevent bias in the results.” Zuko mutters distractedly in answer to her question. “Katara, _why?_ You hate mornings.”

“I know that I don’t _have_ to, Zuko.” Katara narrows her eyes, acknowledgement to the first part of his response and an obvious closing for the second half. “Is it just me or does that method of your tradition seem a little… extreme?”

“I have learned that certain studies do in fact fall on the side of questionable, but you and I both know that things are never so black and white. It’s how physicians are able to discern different aspects of health here in the Fire Nation.” Zuko answers easily, and he just _knows_ that Katara is going to call him _Fire Lord_ again. He laughs. “Firebenders were not blessed with healing abilities, but we do have our ways.”

Katara does not prove him wrong, her relenting laughter a beatific echo throughout the cavern. She surprises him, though, by changing the topic to dessert of all things. It forces Zuko to suffer the thought of what he _would_ like to have versus the mango sticky-buns that she asks him to request for dinner tonight. Katara waves him goodbye when she makes to leave, and this time he does watch her go. Maybe having Katara playing in his hair every morning is dangerous, but Zuko can already tell that he will miss these moments when she is gone. He will enjoy them while he can.

The sun is high when Zuko returns to the palace. He dresses in comfortable navy robes and makes himself scarce in his duties, intent on completing his work. He throws the windows wide open in his office, letting the sun’s shifting rays and the ocean’s cloying breeze energize him while he takes meetings and signs his assurances away on scrolls. It is just as Zuko determines that he is due for a break—tea with his uncle, perhaps—that his uncle appears at his door.

“How are things coming along, Fire Lord Zuko?”

“Well enough, Uncle.” Zuko tells him that he’d just been wondering if he’d like to share a pot of tea, but frowns at the murmur of commotion leaking in from the cracked doors. “Is something happening?”

“The very thing I have come to fetch you for, nephew.” Iroh says. “Our friends Aang and Katara are—“

Zuko shoots up from his desk, disturbing his papers and nearly spilling ink as a flicker of panic zaps through him. Aang and Katara are of the most powerful benders in the world; to him it just means that _real_ trouble finds them easier than Toph finds her own for fun. Zuko feels a plume of sparks follow his breath as he steps around his desk. “ _What happened?”_

“Calm yourself, Fire Lord Zuko. There is no emergency. Though I am sure they will be flattered to hear of your reaction.”

“It doesn’t _sound_ like there isn’t an emergency—“

“ _Zuko._ ” And Zuko’s mouth instantly clicks shut. Iroh clears his throat and pats him on the shoulder. “We will have tea in the southern courtyard.”

His uncle leads him far down hall, the commotion growing louder and… _colder_ as they progress. It isn’t until a growing body of nobles, council members, generals, and even servants crowding around the courtyard steps and the engawa alike comes into view that Zuko understands. He lets the apprehension evaporate as he eases through to the top of the steps with his uncle, returning bows and sending servants scurrying with his mere presence. He cannot and will not blame them for stopping to look along with everyone else.

It’s _snowing_. Aang and Katara are sparring, and it’s _snowing_. 

Zuko has only ever seen three adversaries treat Katara’s ice as if it is easily broken in battle, his younger self included, and each of those people had crumbled under the sharpness of her shards. But _Aang_ … even while using only earthbending, Aang acts like Katara’s ice simply does not exist. He dances between soaring icicles with his eyes closed and his feet pressed firmly into the sleet covered ground, tilting and dipping and slicing through thick ice barriers with thin arcs of rock. The ground rumbles almost smoothly when he blocks Katara’s perfectly aimed needles with pebbles that explode into dust on contact.

“Here,” Iroh says, and Zuko accepts the cup of tea absently, seating himself on the steps next to his uncle as his eyes remain trained on the pair moving towards one another in the center of the courtyard. Katara matches Aang in only pants and her wrappings, Aang without his tunic, though it didn’t surprise Zuko. He watches with rapt attention as Katara sends more needles across the yard and smirks when they are met with more pebbles.

“That’s a lot of ice, Master Katara!” Aang shouts, eyes still closed. He splays his fingers and lifts a ring of stones into the air. “What are you planning?”

Katara throws her head back and laughs, long and loud at being caught. The crowd around Zuko erupts in eager murmurs. 

“You’re the one who wanted to use earthbending, Avatar Aang. It is only right that I adjust accordingly.” Katara yells back, forcing Aang away from the center with a staccato of stalagmites. “Wanna see something cool?”

“Of course I do, Sifu.” Aang tightens his stance, the ground around him rippling like water at the brace of his shifting weight, and laughs as if Katara should know better. “Hit me.”

A belligerent grin spreads across Katara’s face. “Pay attention.” She says, snappish in her glee; a lilt that makes Zuko shiver more than her snow. “You’ll want to learn this.”

 _Oh no_ Zuko thinks as Aang cracks his eyes open. He’s seen Katara use this technique on a mission with Toph only once before, but it only _took_ once for him to get the dirtiest he’s _ever_ been in order to memorize when to get the hell out of Katara’s way. Zuko stands and pulls Iroh backwards with him as he recognizes Katara’s form, and the crowd wisely steps back with him. In one swift, reaching move the snow becomes a rain that brings wind, every jut of ice in the yard collapsing into volatile rushing water, creating a slithering flood that drowns the entire area right up to the steps. 

All too quickly the water thickens, turning from clear blues to murky browns, and Zuko completely understands the look of wonderment on Aang’s face as his stance becomes lax. Katara twists low, and in two forceful punches outward she sends the entire body of mud high into the air with a deafening crash. It molds over the palace walls in an arcing tsunami, freezing on its way towards the sky and gleaming at each deadly, crescendoing cluster of points.

The last of Katara’s rain falls with an abrupt pitter-patter, an end to the beat of awed silence that has fallen over the engawa. The crowd of officials burst into exuberant cheer and Zuko allows his grin to widen briefly as Katara faces the audience, bowing dramatically.

“That was _amazing_ , Katara!” Aang says once they have finished entertaining the nobles—Iroh included—in an excitable conversation about blending elements and sticky situations. They have convened in Zuko’s office at his behest, and he’s had the servants fetch them simple lounge robes so that he will not be tempted to drink in the enticing _v_ of Aang’s navel or the lithe lines of Katara’s abdomen. Zuko takes up his seat behind his desk and abandons his own casual navy robe for the simple shirt underneath; already, he is too warm with both of them near in equal states of messy undress. “Why haven't I seen that before?”

“Toph and I came up with the ice-mud combo in The Swamp last time.” Katara winks at Zuko as he nods his affirmation. “We scared the hell out of those Fire Nation military rebels.”

“Scared the hell out of _me_.” Zuko interjects. “I was cleaning mud out of my boots all the way back to the Southern Air Temple.”

Aang tips his head back in recognition of the shared memory, no doubt recalling Zuko’s request to _airblast all of my clothes, please_ upon their return at the time. Aang laughs as they lock eyes, and Zuko laughs with him. Katara accepts her robe gratefully when a servant arrives with it, a lovely indigo shade that Zuko immediately commits to memory for the way it seems to make her eyes glow. 

“I’ll be back. I have a feeling the head of servants would have my head if I just _leave_ the tower of mud.” Katara chuckles, helping Aang into his own jade robe with lingering hands. She places a kiss to Aang’s cheek and smiles so brightly at Zuko on her way out that he nearly forgets that Aang is there.

“I _know_ , right?” Aang says, placing his chin in his hands and giving Zuko that _smile._ Zuko pretends not to trace the curve of Aang’s mouth by narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrow in question.

“Know what, exactly?”

Aang only shakes his head, his laugh tapering quickly into a smiling sigh that screams of untold patience. Suddenly the deja vu from yesterday morning makes perfect, clear sense to him. _It’s tradition_ , Katara had said, that sly little thing of a grin on her mouth.

It’s the very same little grin that Aang has been giving him since the night of his Solar Return. The one that Aang is giving him _again—ri_ _ght damn now._

 _That’s a lot of ice, Master Katara!_ Aang’s words from earlier rattle around his head with the return of the alarm bells. _What are you planning?_

Zuko swallows down a swell of panic for the second time this evening, save now it’s _himself_ that his instincts are telling him to be worried about.

_What... are you planning?_


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [drake voice] I’M BACK BABY WHERE THE LOVE
> 
> oh my spirits i am _so_ happy to be working on this again!!!! might take me a few ~~days~~ weeks or so (let’s be real lmao) to get in the groove but still, progress.

“Sorry I’m late!” Katara’s apology echoes around the obsidian walls of the cavern. “Aang and I were talking and—oh.”

“M-Master Katara!” The Cleanser holds her yukata closed over her chest and blushes from the roots of her dark hair straight down to her collarbones. “Forgive me My Lady, I—we assumed you were not coming this morning and—”

There are love bites, prominent and red, dotting the slope of Katara’s neck. Zuko feels his own apology die on his tongue; has to keep his hands from clenching where they have just rested on the Cleanser’s hips. He closes his eyes, not daring to move, not daring to speak, lest he say something as foolish as he feels under the indescribable, guarded look he’s glimpsed settling over Katara’s features. Because how foolish of him, to think that he could not be jealous. How foolish of him to think he has any _right_ to be, when he himself is holding a lapful of woman.

“It’s—I should’ve sent word that I would be indisposed,” Katara is saying, and in her tone he hears the princess that she refuses to be. “if you’ll excuse me, Lady, My Lord...”

Zuko cracks his eyes open, seeking blue, if only to hold the fresh image of them in his mind as he completes his cleansing for the morning. He’d waited... and now she stands hesitantly before him, marked by a mouth that he can only wish had been his. Zuko inclines his head in silence to Katara, hating himself for how the acidity of his jealousy outweighs the heaviness of his shame. She bows and looks away, and then she is gone.

Aang is frowning over a scroll in his office when he enters at noon. There is an air about him that Zuko can’t quite place, but he does recognize the determined tilt of his mouth.

Zuko greets him by name, quiet if not cautious. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”

“You.” Aang drops the scroll onto Zuko’s desk and folds his arms. “You say you are free. How free are you to spend a few days in the Western Isles?”

“The conversation you want to have has to be had at the Western Air Temple?” Zuko blinks, caught off guard.

“There is a place called Seifu Falls,” Aang corrects. A muted gleam wavers in his gray gaze, and Zuko feels the hair at his nape stand on end. “we should go.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re _asking_ ,” Zuko says slowly.

Aang’s smile only barely reaches his eyes. “I’m not.” 

Warning bells sound in Zuko’s mind as Aang promptly takes his leave. He hasn’t been treated so briskly by him in ages. Yesterday’s realization that something around him was _happening_ plays at the back of his mind, only now it seems a lot more paramount. A bubble of anxiety envelops his heart. 

Usually Aang’s whims to fly off were underlined with the intent of leisure. What made today so different for Aang to address him so curtly? Surely it has nothing to do with this morning..? Zuko can feel a frown pull at his mouth. It’s not far fetched that Katara shares the ongoings of their time performing The Cleansing with Aang—he proclaimed _encouragement_ , after all. Yet Zuko can think of nothing between their last encounter and now that’s occurred negatively. 

Abruptly, he remembers the surreal moments he’s had between his friends; Katara’s blank looks and Aang’s secret smiles; and understands wanly that he is very much missing something.

Just as quickly Zuko finds himself echoing Aang’s air of determination. Aang is his best friend. If he feels that it’s so important that he needs to whisk them away then Zuko will agree to him.

He sends for his secretary and his head of servants to assist him in pouring over his schedule, and then he sends for his uncle when he’s satisfied with the arrangement. Iroh takes one look at him and then bows his way into the room. For once Zuko does not have it in him to _tsk_. 

“Fire Lord Zuko,” his uncle greets formally. “to what pleasure do I owe this summons?”

“I require a Grandmaster as witness.” Zuko says shortly, standing from his desk and moving towards the balcony windows. He ignores his uncle’s raised eyebrows and gestures for him to be seated. “If you wouldn’t mind, Uncle.”

Iroh takes his place next to Zuko’s secretary in silence. Zuko ties away the drapes so that sunlight slants in over the polished cherry floors and sits seiza under the beam's warmth. His secretary readies their quiver. Zuko clears his throat.

“Under Agni I identify myself: I am Fire Lord Zuko, long may I reign.” To the sun, Zuko bows once. He watches understanding settle his uncle’s brow and continues. “Before Agni I humble myself: I am Zuko, son of Ursa and child of Iroh.” 

To the sun, Zuko bows twice and holds. 

“By Agni I claim myself: I am Zuko, of 25 summers.” Zuko rises from his bow. With fire at his fingertips, he draws ancient calligraphy in the air before him. “ _I hereby evoke the ritual of The Resting,_ ” he says in tongue. “may Agni bless me with his warmth; may his light bring my body comfort; may his presence fuel my fire.”

Iroh rises and gathers Zuko’s written flame to keep as his own, as witnessing demands. There is a curious look on his face. “Marked and dated down to the hour My Lord,” his secretary finishes the scroll with a flourish of ink just as his head of servants shuffles out the door. “I will notify the councils per your demands.”

Zuko nods, remaining seated. “Thank you, Shiori. You are dismissed.”

With a deep bow his secretary takes their leave. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Nephew?” His uncle asks after a beat. “Why the formality?”

“Aang requested a trip to a place outside of the Nation. He seemed… upset. It’s only right that I be able to provide my undivided attention.” Zuko resists the urge to touch the bridge of his nose and bows instead. “I’m sorry to ask this of you Uncle. I know your time away from Ba Sing Se is limited, but it is my hope that you will watch the throne while I am away...”

“Rise, Nephew. Your deferrance is unwarranted. How long will you be gone? To where?”

“Seifu Falls in the Western Isles.” Zuko stands at his uncle’s beckon, frowning in apology. “A week at most.”

“Then for a week, I shall watch your throne.” His uncle offers no more than an understanding smile. Some of the anxiety in Zuko’s chest ebbs. “Go, my son. Do what you must.”

Zuko pulls him into a warm embrace, allows a wry grin when his uncle pats his cheek and sends him away as if he were but a boy again. The palace halls are quiet but for a few nobles making their way. In a blink, Zuko finds himself standing at the archway into the Avatar’s Chamber, the cliffside garden but steps to his left.

“Take a walk,” he tells the guards. He waits until they have cleared the corner of the wing before moving to rap sharply on the double doors.

It’s Katara who answers. “—thousandth time Aang I don’t wanna go into the La-forsaken—!”

The moment their eyes lock she stops short. Zuko raises his eyebrow and pretends not to glare at the purpling marks visible to him under her cropped red tunic. 

“Is this a bad time?”

“If you’re looking for Aang,” Katara remains rooted in the doorway. “he said he was going into the city.”

 _He’s not here?_ “I’m not,” Zuko lies. He thinks of the not-quite smile Aang gave him; thinks back further of the guarded look Katara gave him this morning. He sees it, slipping onto her face this very second, and quickly changes tactics. “I want you to wash my hair.”

 _“What?”_ Katara’s eyes widen and then narrow, and she steps back just so. “But this morning—why, Zuko?”

Zuko pauses at her tone; even and unsuspecting like a double edged blade, all of which he is familiar. Why does he want her to wash his hair; why didn’t he let her when she’d arrived; and the point, glinting like the ice he sees in her endless blue gaze: why didn’t he _stop_ when she’d deigned to show?

“You were missed this morning,” is what he tells her, perhaps stupidly. _In more ways than one_ is what he doesn’t say because that could very well be a lie, a lie in the way the image of her hadn’t fled his mind once while performing The Cleansing, because in a fit of jealous rage he’d wished his Cleanser’s skin umber and had bitten at her neck in a perfect replica of the smatter of purple he sees this very second, wishing and wishing and _wishing_ it had been him.

Katara mutters something that he misses. 

“Tomorrow,” is what he does hear; a blatant dismissal, and then a slap to the face: “I’ll be early.”

The door to the Avatar’s Chamber clicks shut with a finality. 

Something infinitely strange stirs in Zuko’s gut. He spends the rest of the day buried in scrolls.


End file.
